Strange encounter
by FPB
Summary: A young woman is lost and freezing in a lonely, deserted moorland railway station in northern England. Then, out of nowhere, a big, dramatic, red steam engine appears... A songfic on Abba's EAGLE.


**STRANGE ENCOUNTER**

The small railway station in the Pennines, whipped by the wind and exposed to the rain, had a sense of being in another world; so wild, so desolate, so lonely that one could hardly imagine that that long ribbon of steel and thick wood ties led, not to some doom-laden Elfland beyond the clouds, but to Leeds or Edinburgh or Glasgow. It was not just the solitude and the cold: it was the visionary dreariness of the heathlands spreading on each side, scattered with rocky outcrops like the bones of giants fallen in some forgotten prehistoric battle, until they faded in the steel-grey of the distant mist. It was a place "of old, unhappy, far-off things/ And battles long ago," without even the shelter of trees, however grim.

The young schoolteacher, a more than ordinarily sensitive person, who found herself lost and alone in this freezing desert, was quite imaginative enough to feel its poetic power; but she was also a practical woman, with her mind very much on the numbing pain in her limbs – the pain of the cold wind on insufficiently sheltered muscle, producing not only cramp but a sense of dull despair, a fall in vitality that was as damaging as the pain itself. So that when a bright red dot in the approximate direction in which the line faded away, resolved itself – with astonishing swiftness, brightness and noise – into an amazing old-fashioned bright red steam locomotive, the practical part of the young woman's mind was clearly and eagerly focused on the chance of salvation, even as her imaginative self was noticing how well this sudden burst of red energy fitted into the desperate fairyland in which she had found herself, by accident and much against her will.

**They came flying from far away**

To her delight, the train slowed and stopped. She seized the handle of a compartment, which flew open, and, ignoring the astonished looks of the teen-agers inside, threw herself in, her small, worn suitcase adding hardly anything to her weight.

**_They came flying from far away, _**

**_Now I'm under their spell_**

After the almost intolerable cold outside, the sudden warmth of the compartment felt not so much delightful – that would come later – as bewildering, even vaguely uncomfortable; and she had to swiftly remove coat and scarf, for she did not want to start sweating.

She turned around to look at the people among whom she had fallen, and to make her apologies; and she was surprised almost to speechlessness. Six teen-agers, themselves dumb with surprise, were staring at her; and although she was still herself quite young, she could not put a name on the fashion or music current that their clothing represented. Their clothes were not Goth, not urban-chic, not punk, not anything she had ever heard of; they looked like some bizarre mixture of school clothes and... what, medieval? Sixteenth-century? In fact, she was almost sure they _were_ school clothes; but even the most eccentric British public school would surely not dress its inmates in long flowing cloaks and steeple hats?

On their side, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron and Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood all were astonished, not only at the appearance of an obvious Muggle in obvious Muggle clothes on the Hogwarts Express, but also by the fact that the train had stopped for her. Yes, even the normally unflappable Luna, who took the unlikeliest things in her stride, was astonished; for she, like all her friends, had already travelled on this line several times, and knew very well where it was supposed to stop, and where not. And what was their guest doing there? This train only stopped to pick up students; and it travelled to only one destination... Hogwarts School of Magic and Wizardry.

The bewildered young woman introduced herself, and quickly became aware that she was travelling among, either a set of quite engaging lunatics, or among the most curious teen-age sub-culture she had ever met. She simply did not understand half of what they said, but it seemed that they took all sorts of things seriously that she had never heard of, and on the other hand – with the exception of the brunette girl, Hermione – were quite unfamiliar with normal and ordinary facts such as computers or soccer.

A person with a less vivid imagination and a less curious inner life would quickly have retreated within him or herself, ignoring the strange conversation and perhaps seeking out an empty compartment; but the young woman listened, and as she listened, an unbelievable suspicion was making its way through her mind. It had to do with the strange series of accidents that had stranded her on the lonely moorland railway station; and with the extraordinary feeling of trans-human loneliness that had seized her there, the feeling that this place might almost be an escape from the world of the living, from ordinary existence. She could not be sure yet, because the young people were not so much speaking as questioning her – in a polite and friendly fashion – about the chance that had led her there, about her condition. (When she described the painful life-sapping cold outside, the young boy with the scar and the black hair offered her a slab of very attractive chocolate; and how much better it had made her feel. You know, he had a really nice smile beneath that mop of unruly hair.) But it was as though their conversation were all in expectation of something from her, something that she was not delivering; as though they expected her to say something she did not know, and were disappointed and puzzled – even vaguely alarmed – at the fact that she did not know it.

Finally she came right out with it. "It seems as if you kids are asking whether I am something that I am not. Did you think I was a magician or something?"

"Well," answered Hermione politely, "seeing that we all are, that seemed like a likely idea."

"Yes," added the soft-faced boy, Neville, "and seeing that Muggles should not be able to board this train..."

"Wait a minute. Seeing that you all are _what_?"

"Magicians," said four voices in unison; "wizards," added Neville and Luna.

"I think I'd better sit down..." said the young woman weakly, as Ron (this time) offered her another large slab of comforting chocolate.

**_They came flying from far away, _**

**_Now I'm under their spell_**

**_I love hearing the stories that they tell_**

**_They've seen places beyond my land and they've found new horizons_**

**_They speak strangely but I understand_**

**_And I dream I'm an eagle_**

**_And I dream I can spread my wings_**

**_Flying high, high, I'm a bird in the sky_**

**_I'm an eagle that rides on the breeze_**

**_High, high, what a feeling to fly_**

**_Over mountains and forests and seas_**

**_And to go anywhere that I please_**

They all looked at her with sympathy. It was a always a bewildering experience when some Muggle or other blundered into a magical situation; she was taking it better than most, but they could all imagine her struggle to adjust. It was rather lucky that she had fallen among them, rather than among some of their more prejudiced fellow-travellers; a fact that was quickly emphasized when an oblivious Draco Malfoy appeared in the corridor, passing their compartment without stopping, on some errand of his own. They could not but be grateful; if he had lived up to his form and stopped to hurl a few insults at them, he would have noticed the Muggle – and goodness only knew what mischief or scandal he could have worked up.

**_As all good friends we talk all night, and we fly wing to wing_**

**_I have questions and they know everything_**

**_There's no limit to what I feel, we climb higher and higher_**

**_Am I dreaming or is it all real?_**

Slowly the conversation resumed, driven to some considerable extent by the young woman's curiosity. As the train flew over the landscape – with, she noticed, almost no noise or shaking – she heard with unbroken astonishment of the existence of another world that abuts our own – a world made by those beings who used a power that most human beings cannot feel or seize. She heard of heroes and villains, of an old sage idolized by her young friends, and another sage so dreaded that, except for the boy with the black hair, nobody was willing to speak his name. She heard with intense professional curiosity – after all, she was a schoolteacher herself – of the place where they were all going, a school built in an old Scottish castle, divided into four houses with notably differential characteristics. And as they spoke, all six young people were looking at each other, each wrestling with his or her conscience, trying to decide on a course of action.

**_Is it true I'm an eagle?_**

**_Is it true I can spread my wings?_**

**_Flying high, high, I'm a bird in the sky_**

**_(I'm an eagle)_**

**_I'm an eagle that rides on the breeze_**

**_High, high, what a feeling to fly_**

**_(What a feeling)_**

**_Over mountains and forests and seas_**

**_And to go anywhere that I please_**

The train's last stop before its destination was Edinburgh, where the sons of several ancient magical lowland clans would board. It so happened that Edinburgh was where the young schoolteacher wanted to go; and so, for the first time in recent history, the Hogwarts Express opened to let one traveller out at a station other than Hogwarts.

Agonizingly, the six young people watched her get off and walk away, with a new image in her eyes. Their duty was clear. Dozens of magical statutes demanded that Muggles who had stumbled upon the magical world should have the Obliviate spell performed on them and be returned to their own world with their memories wiped clean. But none of them wanted to be the first; each of them felt that it would be something like a betrayal, and a piece of abuse, to interfere with the mind of this woman whom they had helped, who had innocently confided in them, and with whom they had spent a very pleasant few hours.

So the spells remained unspoken; and the wands were returned to their robes. And Joanne Kathleen Rowling walked away, hardly seeing the crowd around her, with her mind and her mind's eyes on distant and secret lands.

**_And I dream I'm an eagle_**

**_And I dream I can spread my wings_**

**_Flying high, high, I'm a bird in the sky_**

**_(I'm an eagle) _**

**_I'm an eagle that rides on the breeze_**

**_High, high, what a feeling to fly_**

**_(What a feeling) _**

**_Over mountains and forests and seas_**

**_Flying high, high, I'm a bird in the sky_**

**_(I'm an eagle)_**

**_I'm an eagle that rides on the breeze_**

**_High, high, what a feeling to fly_**

**_(What a feeling) _**

**_Over mountains and forests and seas_**

**_And to go anywhere that I please_**


End file.
